


I Want To Make A Deal

by lilsmartass



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Deals, Extended Scene, John Winchester - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:12:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsmartass/pseuds/lilsmartass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you have to seal a demon deal with a kiss, and Lilith so high up the food chain she needs more, and the YED is so important holy water doesn’t bother him, what did John have to do to seal his? Extended scene from 2x01. John/YED dub con.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want To Make A Deal

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: dark fic, angst, dub con, slash  
> Genre: angst, dark fic, PWP  
> Disclaimer: Not mine, except the plot (and there’s not much of that) all lines you recognise from the episode 2x01.

**I want to make a Deal**

“I want to make a deal.”

It’s funny how easy the words come after all the time John spent agonising about the necessity of saying them. It took half an hour of staring at Dean’s broken, empty shell of a body to force himself to get up and do this. That’s thirty minutes John hates himself for wasting, but, as anyone will tell you Winchesters are not very good at losing and this, this isn’t losing. This is surrender. He’s going to go and surrender to the thing that killed Mary and the knowledge of how much that thing will enjoy that makes his stomach roll. Which is why it takes one thousand eight hundred seconds of looking at his firstborn’s mangled form to make his head know what his heart knows. That there is no point in avenging Mary if he loses the best part of her along the way. And he doesn’t think Sammy knows about demon deals, he’s almost sure he doesn’t, but if he was desperate, desperate because say his brother was dying, he might stumble across the information. And Sammy would cut off his arm before he let anything happen to Dean and he’s too young to really understand what selling your soul to the pit for an eternity of torment means. It means pain forever, John knows he will be tortured until he doesn’t remember himself anymore, until he doesn’t remember Dean or Sam or Mary, until he will hate them for leading him here. And Mary, the brightest, best person he ever knew, the person who makes saving all the other ungrateful dicks he comes across in his line of work worthwhile because people like Mary exist. She won’t be in hell, he’d bet _Sammy’s_ soul on that. If he does this, he’ll never see her again. In this world or in any other.

So he hates himself for wasting them, but with that many rational reasons rattling around in his skull to just...not, he needs those thirty minutes. He needs to force himself to look at what that cowardice will cost him. He needs to steel his nerves in a way he never needed to going into a haunted house or a vampire nest or against a werewolf. And then he does it. Forces himself to get up and go to the boiler room where he will be undisturbed. He empties his mind of the hurt he feels from Sammy’s angry words, reminds himself that he’d rather bare his son’s anger even hatred than have him know what his old man was doing now.

And yet, “I want to make a deal.” The words are easy. The decision made and the decision right. He has no choice and he’s spent more than twenty years fighting for his boys, it turns out he can surrender for them too. All the same, he doesn’t lower his eyes, doesn’t allow himself to blush or flinch. He’ll do what needs doing but he won’t cow in front of a demon, certainly not this demon to do it. Only an idiot wouldn’t be afraid, but he’d rather let it think he’s stupid than let it see his fear.

“I will give you the colt and the bullet.”

It’s his one concession. He knows what deals with demons usually cost. He’s faced hell hounds three times but he’s yet to save a single person whose soul has been earmarked in this way. But unlike all of those people, he doesn’t want fame or fortune, power or money; he doesn’t even want a favour of a miraculous kind that heaven isn’t answering. And unlike all those people, he has leverage. If this doesn’t work he’ll have cost his son’s everything. He’ll have taken away the last wall in between them and the darkness and he’ll have lost them their greatest weapon against an enemy who will never stop coming. But all the same, the offer is his one concession to his fear. He’ll think of a way to get the colt back later, he’ll find another option if needs be, he’ll simply strangle the fucker if it gets close enough but he can’t bring himself not to at least try and survive. He could have offered his life to the thing without depriving his sons of their one true weapon, but he can’t offer that. Not yet.

“But you’ve got to help Dean. You’ve got to bring him back.”

He sounds desperate and he knows it, but he can’t help it. His boy is dying in a hospital bed above him and this bastard is his only chance.   
The damned thing notices his desperation of course. It breathes in, like it’s savouring his fear and fury. “Why, John, you're a sentimentalist. If only your boys knew how much their daddy loved them.” 

John doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like it presuming to toy with him when he’s down to his last raw nerve already. Doesn’t like it mentioning his _boys_ plural. At the moment Sammy isn’t a part of this and John has every intention of keeping that way. His finger actually aches to pull the trigger, to kill the thing he’s chased all these years once and for all. _For you Mary._ But there’s a reason wrath is one of the seven deadly sins, John has more than enough of it, Jim is always telling him so, but he won’t make Dean pay for his sins. He can’t. “It's a good trade.” He insists, keeping his voice hard and level, focussed on the conversation at hand. “You care a hell of a lot more about this gun than you do Dean.” His eyes don’t waver, he doesn’t alter his stance at all, but still more of that damnable desperation bleeds through.   
  
“Don't be so sure. He killed some people very special to me.” Yellow Eyes snaps back and John can’t help a twitch of pride at his lips. That’s his boy. He never thought he’d be in a situation where he’d think that Dean killing demons is a negative thing. Funny how the world sometimes works. “But still, you're right, he isn't much of a threat,” continues the demon and John breathes an internal sigh of relief even as he fumes that Yellow Eyes is pacing as he talks, John so little a threat even after all these years of hunting him that he doesn’t even need to look at him, the colt burns in his hand once again. His relief hitches in his chest as Yellow Eyes glances at him and says, “And neither is your other son of course.”  
John lowers his head, raises his eyes, thinking quickly. He doesn’t want to talk about this, not here, not now, not with this thing. And he doesn’t want it thinking about Sam. “You know the truth, right? About Sammy? And the other children? “  
  
It’s in his face now, trying to gauge his reaction and his eyes blaze with a fury that longs to manifest in Samuel Colt’s last bullet between its eyes. His voice is cold and hard as he answers, “Yeah I know. I've known for a while.” _So stop talking about my baby boy you ASSHOLE._ He hopes his eyes are saying what his lips can’t risk.   
  
Yellow Eyes doesn’t get the memo, “But Sam doesn't, does he? You've been playing dumb.”   
  
But that’s it; John is through talking about Sammy to this monster. He’s not giving it any more ammunition against either of them, fuck it, against all three of them because everyone, everything with more than three brain cells and half an eye knows that Sam is Dean’s greatest weakness. “Can you bring Dean back? Yes or no?” He asks, steely fury making fear.   
  
“No.” The demon smirks and pause, leaves John hanging there for just long enough that his thumb has already moved to the hammer thumbing it back slowly, because if he can’t save Dean he’s damn well going to destroy the thing that tortured him. “But I know someone who can. It's not a problem.”   
  
“Good.” And his thumb slides off the hammer again. Adrenaline is pounding through him making him feel sick, but he forces himself to stick to the plan. The plan he had concocted whilst he watched his son’s battered, bruised body. The plan that if he fucked up, it wouldn’t be him that would suffer for. Before I give you the gun, I'm going to want to make sure that Dean's okay. With my own eyes.”   
  
“Oh, John, I'm offended. Don't you trust me?”  
John shakes his head slowly a smile that has nothing to do with humour and everything to do with bravado curling at his lips. He’s on the home stretch now, maybe this will work after all, and maybe they’ll all live to fight another day, together because after this he’s not letting either of his boys out of his sight ever again.    
“Fine,” answers the demon and John feels himself take another step closer, though he’s not sure if it’ll count as winning when he tells Dean and Sam exactly why they no longer have the colt. A fraction of his mind wonders absently if he can make out it was stolen, or if he had gone up against the demon despite his promise to Sammy and lost, or if he can convince them he lost it in a game of cards, anything not to tell them that he’d been reduced to pleading with a demon, before he ruthlessly yanks it back to the matter at hand.   
  
“So we have a deal?” And it is his first mistake. He’s still desperate, still terrified, but there is a sliver of something in his tone and his eyes now. Hope, not resignation.   
  
“No, John, not yet.” It almost smirks, its voice taking on a darker, almost lustful edge, “You still need to sweeten the pot.”   
  
“With what?” His lips are numb and his heart is pounding. It is costing him everything just to keep looking straight into its eyes. He had promised himself that offering the colt would be his one concession to fear, promised, but he still can’t make himself offer, can’t make himself take that last step.  
  
“There's something else I want, as much as that gun. Maybe more.”

John’s eyes blaze into its for another long moment of silence filled only by the pounding heart in John’s chest. Then finally he lowered his eyes. It is a deliberate action, a calculated one but it doesn’t stop blood rushing to his cheeks staining them a mortified scarlet when the involuntary gasp from the demon before him tells him the signal of his submission has been noticed and recognised for what it is. “You can have it.” He says, his voice so gravelly it sounds like he’s been on the wrong end of a three day drinking binge and crying jag. The words don’t stop his tone from saying, _anything, I’ll do anything_ and he blushes even deeper.

Yellow Eyes takes a step back. “Your soul, John,” he clarifies, whether because it’s a rule that he does so or to see if John’s fear will spike higher unclear, “You’re offering me your soul, forever. And you know, hunters, especially one’s of your calibre,” he offers John a mocking smile, “They’re not too popular downstairs.”

John’s eyes shoot back to its. He’ll be broken soon enough, damned if he’s going to cower now. “I know what I’m offering,” he snarls, “take it and welcome, but you bring Dean back first.”

Yellow Eyes smiles, “Done, I’ll have my people call you.” He shuts his eyes and utters a few words in Latin and john’s actually shaking now with fury, with sheer terror, with anticipation, with adrenaline, with the fact that the fucker he’s been chasing for nearly quarter of a century is standing in front of him with his eyes closed and he’s holding the only weapon which could stop him forever and he’s just standing there. He toys for a moment with ways to bend the deal. He wonders if he can shoot the bastard when he comes to collect. He’s the quickest draw at the Roadhouse, or was the last time he stopped by, but he owes this demon a bullet, he’s already promised that and he knows what it will do to him, do to Dean if he tries to break that promise.

And suddenly it stops, “Oh John?”

It’s obviously mid incantation and his stomach clenches at the thought of what it will ask for now. He hates himself that he’ll give it, whatever it is. “I’ve just remembered,” the mock sincerity and apology makes John want to punch it and he clenches the hand not holding the colt hard enough to make the bones creak. “Do you know how to seal a deal with a devil?”

“Handshake?” He wished he sounded sarcastic, but sadly no. He just sounds dehydrated. Why couldn’t it ever just be fucking simple?

“Normally it’s with a kiss.”

“I’m not fucking kissing you, you fucking son of a whore!”

It feels good to get some of the tension he feels out in some good old fashioned shouting and swearing, but the demon is already talking over him. “But that’s for unimportant little crossroads demons. Me? I need a bit more.” John just stares at him with eyes he hopes are stony not wild. “How do you feel about fellatio John?”

John smirks even as his heart stops beating and he thinks he’s going to die right here on the floor of the boiler room, transaction uncompleted. “I enjoy it,” he spreads his legs a bit, shifting his stance so that he looks more like his cocky irreverent son at seventeen than he does the tightly wound hunter he usually is, “so if you insist feel free to get to it.”

Yellow Eyes actually throws back his head and laughs. “You’re really something John,” he stalks forward once again and touches his face lightly. “If I were you, I’d let Dean die. He’ll go to a better place, you on the other hand...it’ll be a shame to see the spirit of a man willing infuriate his son’s saviour broken.”

John doesn’t lose the smirk or shoot the demon in his fucking face and Mary always said he had no self control. “I thought you were going to suck my cock,” he says instead because his mouth is apparently on auto pilot with no input from his brain needed.

Yellow Eyes takes half a step back and simply looks at him. He looks...impressed, something that fills John with no little amount of self loathing, because usually he goes out of his way to make demon’s dislike him and, on almost anything else’s face, that expression would be positive, would be an ego boost. There is another heavy silence and after a few seconds Yellow Eyes speaks again, “You can either seal the deal John or you can go back upstairs and sit by Dean’s bedside until his heart finally stops. Dealer’s choice,” and he flashes another wicked smirk John’s way.

John tucks the colt, still clutched in his hand, into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back. “You don’t get that until I’ve seen Dean,” he reiterates again.

Yellow Eyes nods slowly, an expression of fascinated lust on his face as he watches John. John forces himself not to take a deep breath, or crack his knuckles or do any of the other hundred and one little things that mean he’s preparing himself. He hesitates for just a second, genuinely considers asking if there’s no other way to do this, but, perverse as it may be, he’d rather suck the thing’s cock because it had told him that was the only way to save Dean than let it hear him beg for himself.

Another second of hesitation, another second he’s wasting while Dean dies upstairs a tube stuck in his throat, another second his baby boy has to deal with this without him, without anyone at his six and then John Winchester does what he had sworn he would never do. He lowers himself to his knees at the demon’s feet.

It sucks in another sharp burst of air. “Good boy John,” and he can hear the mocking tone, feel it in the way it’s patting him on the head like he’s a pet or something. For the first time in this whole confrontation, all he wants to do is cry, but he won’t. Not like this, not in front of it. And for Dean, for Dean’s life, for Sammy’s sanity, John opens the demon’s pants and takes it’s already painfully erect cock into his mouth.

“That’s right John, suck me, oh _fuck_ , had some experience with this huh? Not all fighting in the marines? Yeah like that.”

It doesn’t taste as bad as John had expected. Tastes like flesh at any rate, not like something dead and rotting, not like acid or death. It does taste a little like shame though, especially since the bastard won’t stop talking.

“That why you were so pissed when we killed the pastor? Was he your lover John? Harder, take it deeper you little slut. Was he the one who taught you to suck cock like a pro? You’re going to spend a lot of time doing this downstairs John, all those demons you sent there, all those demons your boys sent there, they’re all going to want a piece of you. We’ll have to queue them round the block so that they can all use the great John Winchester like a cock sucking little whore.”

He’s studied techniques for surviving torture at length and he tries to employ them now. Tries to tune out the sound of its words, dirty talk has never been his thing, he was always one for sweet nothings and he really doesn’t want to know about what it’s got planned for him, or what it thinks of his ability. It’s hard though when there’s the alien sensation of a cock jabbing at the skin of his throat, when he’s terrified that if he does something wrong it’ll call the whole deal off.

“If I’d known you were such an eager, greedy little cock slut, I’d’ve made you lick my boots and beg to do this. Hell, I’d’ve probably offered you the chance years ago. Yes yes _fuuuuck._ ”

He flinches when it comes and spits the fluid out, taking specific care to hit the thing’s boot.

It looks at him, sharper and more aware than any human male who’s just had his brain sucked out through his cock. “What are you going to do if I tell you swallowing it is part of the deal?”

“It’s not,” says John and gets to his feet but he can’t help the fission of _what if_ fear which thrums through him.

Yellow Eyes cocks his head at him and raises an eyebrow but doesn’t challenge him any further. They both know John would lick cold cum off a demon’s boot if that was what it took to save Dean. And they both know he wouldn’t resist, he’d lose anyway, so why let the demon see his disgust, his humiliation. He meets its eyes, challenging it, daring it to tell him to. But, as he had guessed, it wasn’t allowed to toy with a deal. “I look forward to visiting you in hell John,” is all it says and then it finishes its incantation.

There’s a cold wind and the candles go out. John flinches. He feels more vulnerable in the dark than he did at any point before, facing off against a demon with a broken arm and all. His expression is tight and he doesn’t take his gaze off the silhouette of the demon in front of him. He doesn’t even blink.

There’s silence for nearly a minute. “It’s done,” Yellow Eyes voice snaked out of the darkness. “Dean is waking up now. You’ll want to go and see that for yourself.”

“And then?” John demands, “where do you want me to go, you’re not releasing hell hounds in a fucking hospital.”

He can imagine the expression on its face from the sound of its voice, “So noble John. But don’t worry; I’ll do you a favour, no hell hounds. I’ll come and collect you personally. Consider it payment for services rendered.”

John’s mouth tightens into an even harder line and he flushes again, but he doesn’t argue, he doesn’t really want to be ripped apart by hell hounds. He doesn’t want his sons to have to see his body afterwards either. “Where?”

“When you’re satisfied I’ve upheld my end of the bargain go back to your room and uphold yours. And don’t do anything stupid John; make sure you break those salt lines. If I can’t get to you someone else might just have to pick up your tab.”

John rears his head back proudly and it fills the demon with the same dark lust which had filled him since those six words _I want to make a deal_ had been uttered to see such pride in a condemned man, to know that soon he would own it. “I’ll uphold my end.”

The demon gestured to his associates and they backed off, then gestured John towards the door. “Then go and check on Dean,” he invited, voice silky and teasing, “because I can’t wait to get back to spending quality time with you.”


End file.
